


Crescendo

by mydeira, Sadbhyl



Series: Responsible Adults (aka, The Menageaverse) [38]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-07
Updated: 2012-06-07
Packaged: 2017-11-07 04:35:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/426967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mydeira/pseuds/mydeira, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadbhyl/pseuds/Sadbhyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Once More With Feeling ends with a crash</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

> Set at the end of the episode Once More With Feeling. Lyrics used with a newfound respect for Joss Whedon.
> 
> Written by Sadbhyl, beta'd by Mydeira

When does the end appear?  
When do the trumpets cheer?

Ethan couldn’t stop singing. The only ones who did seem able to break out of the departed demon’s compulsion spell seemed to be Spike and Buffy, presumably because they had a more powerful compulsion to address. But the rest of them, Joyce and Rupert and the other children, all continued, forced to see the song out to its bitter end.

The curtains close on a kiss, god knows  
We can tell the end is near  
Where do we go from here?  
Where do we go from here?  
Where do we go from here?

Finally the last note faded away, and they were all released from the last vestiges of the working. Slowly they lowered their arms, the children looking uncertainly at each other. Joyce sagged against the pool table, crossing her arms over her chest before lifting one hand to cover her face. Rupert looked from her to Ethan and back, uncertain, indecisive, as shocked by the revelation as they all had been.

The boy was the first one to finally speak. “What did we do?”

Joyce gasped a sob.

“We didn’t know,” the redhead replied defensively. “We didn’t know. We were just trying to help. . .”

Rupert turned on her. “You didn’t think! No matter how many times I warn you that some things aren’t to be meddled with, you just have to try, don’t you? You wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t heed any of my warnings, and now Buffy is the one paying the price. Tell me, Willow, do you still want congratulations?”

“It’s not like we were doing it alone, Giles,” the boy jumped in to defend his friend. “Ethan was with us. We thought we were safe.”

Ethan rose to his own defense. “I was simply there as . . .”

Joyce rose from the table, her eyes livid. “You! This is your fault! You could have stopped this and you didn’t! How could you?” And suddenly she lunged at him, her hands locked in fists ready to beat her pain into him.

“Joyce, no!” Rupert grabbed her, holding her back with difficulty as she struggled to escape him. “You mustn’t blame Ethan. Had he known. . .”

“Never mind, Ripper,” Ethan said coldly, her fury hurting him in a way he had never experienced before. “If she’s so eager to think ill of me, let her. It’s not like others haven’t before her.”

“Ethan, no . . .”

But Joyce interrupted Rupert. “And no wonder! Did you use them all as callously? Were you as thoughtless and careless with them as you were with me?”

“I don’t know. Rupert, was I?”

“Ethan, Joyce, please . . .”

“Just leave,” Joyce threw back at him, ignoring Rupert’s attempt at conciliation. “No one wants you here. Least of all me.”

He froze, her words devastating him. Without a sound, he turned and headed out the shattered doors, pausing at the threshold to say quietly to her, “It seems you weren’t able to save me after all, were you?”

He heard her intake of breath, but he didn’t turn to look at her again.

 

 

By the time Ethan got back to his apartment, the anger had mostly gone, leaving behind only the pain, the sense of betrayal and of abject failure.

This was supposed to be his refuge, but there were signs of them everywhere. The wall over the table was now hung with a Hopi kachina mask and a Chinese opera mask that Joyce had given him. The shelves next to the fireplace displayed books he had borrowed from Rupert. His coat closet held a sword and crossbow Ripper had given him and a coat Joyce had forgotten. His workroom was filled with supplies from Rupert’s store and his bedroom was filled with Joyce’s clothes. They were everywhere, had infiltrated every part of his life.

And now they didn’t want him.

After all, why should they? He was like a rabid dog to them, dangerous and deadly with no way of knowing when he’d bite, just sure of the fact that one day he would.

But god, he needed them.

He should be out of there. He knew that. There was obviously nothing left for him here. He should just go, leaving a swath of chaos in his wake. Put all of this behind him. But it wasn’t going to happen. He loved Joyce, and in a difficult to define way, he cared for Rupert as well. No matter how much he might want to, he didn’t see how he could leave.

His eyes fell on the fireplace mantle and the shrine he had established there. The centerpiece was a small alabaster bust of Janus. The two faces were directed toward either end of the mantle, surrounded by half burned candles and a worn, tarnished censer. Scattered over the rest of the surface were old Roman coins, slivers and stones from significant doorways Ethan had crossed through, keys of every size and description. All symbols of the god of thresholds, doorways and beginnings. The unknown in all things. Chaos.

“You did this to me,” Ethan said quietly, moving towards the hearth. “You set this up, trapped me in this, and now you’re sitting back and reveling in it, aren’t you?” He picked up the statuette, turned it so the clean-shaven face looked up at him. “Was it punishment? A reprimand for using my skills to help Joyce when she was sick? I gave you chaos aplenty that night. But then, you’re a greedy bastard, aren’t you? Is anything ever enough for you?”

He rolled the statue so the bearded, patrician side faced him. “For twenty years I’ve served you, honored you, revered you. And I’ve been alone. I’m an old man, and I don’t want to be alone anymore. I was happy. But you couldn’t have that, could you? Were you so jealous of them that you couldn’t let me have that one small piece of joy in my life? After everything I’ve given you, everything I’ve done for you? Fine!” He hurled the delicate sculpture against the fieldstone hearth, smiling in grim satisfaction as the milky stone shattered like glass against the harder granite. “Take it. Take it all.” He swept everything off the mantle, stones and keys and coins chiming as they scattered, slender wooden fingers of history burying themselves deep under the skin of his hands.

“But I’ll be damned if I give you anything else.”


End file.
